


It's Not so Much I Love You as I Want to Break You

by victoriousscarf



Series: Beware of Heroes [8]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dune Setting, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Dune Fusion, M/M, maybe more then vague ymmv, vague mentions of semi-rough sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-16
Updated: 2015-02-16
Packaged: 2018-03-13 05:52:09
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3370220
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/victoriousscarf/pseuds/victoriousscarf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>We're not talking about love we're talking about recreating the future. Try to focus.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Not so Much I Love You as I Want to Break You

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LiveOakWithMoss](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/gifts).



> I was going to write a scene between these two sorta establish them through conversation and work on figuring out and building up and--no. They jumped right to this. Okay guys.
> 
> This is all LiveOakWithMoss' fault. Just so everyone knows.

“I wonder if any of the stories would dare call this love,” Finrod said, looking at the ceiling and beside him, Curufin tensed.

“I do not love you,” he said, not quite a growl.

“Of course not,” Finrod said, smiling faintly up at the ceiling and Curufin rolled over, pinning Finrod back against the bed, fingers digging into his wrists. “I still wonder what they would say about it. About us.”

“Why would the stories care about us?” Curufin asked, mouth hovering over Finrod’s, breath brushing against his lips and Finrod swallowed hard, tilting his chin back.

“Where to start, dear cousin?” he asked. “Think about it. Revolutionaries, fools, fighting for humanity. Oh, we might never be Fingon and Maedhros, perhaps their love really will survive the centuries,” and Curufin looked struck before he growled again. “Perhaps Maglor’s songs of them really will matter to someone, someday. But you and me? Where would you the songs even begin?”

“We’re recreating humanity,” Curufin whispered, words inching along Finrod’s face. He shifted and Finrod moved to accommodate him, Curufin almost nuzzling against his cheekbone. Finrod’s wrists were still fragile in Curufin’s grip and sometimes he looked at Finrod and felt a thousand words lodging in his throat. Words like, _you are beautiful and grace and sunlight and I forgot what that looked like or felt like in these cold ships_ , and other times, _you deserve so much more_ _than me_ and a slick curl of angry possession would choke him as much as the words. But he also thought _and sometimes I want to rip your throat out with my bare teeth._ Instead, he pressed closer. “To recreate something, you have to break what came before,” he whispered, against the shell of Finrod’s ear and his cousin shuddered and shifted beneath him, a strained sound almost a moan escaping him.

“Are you breaking me, dear cousin?” Finrod asked, and his voice was wrecked so Curufin kissed him, edging their mouths together and forcing Finrod’s neck back.

“Down to the fundamentals of that brilliant mind,” Curufin said and Finrod could not cut off the moan he gave then, full bodied and desperate. “But I do not love you.”

“Love,” Finrod said, curling his fingers against his palm and turning his head to meet Curufin’s eyes. “Can mean whatever you want it to.”

“If you keep talking of that word I will leave right now,” Curufin growled so Finrod smiled and tilted his neck all the way back, an open invitation and challenge to silence him all at once. So Curufin bit down and Finrod moaned, arching his body in one long line.

“I won’t talk of love then,” he murmured, and Curufin’s hands came up to press his wrists down on to the bed where he had thrown his hands over his own head. “Let us talk of recreating humanity.”

Curufin scowled, certain that Finrod would drag the conversation back around. “Logically,” he whispered, into the curve of Finrod’s collarbone. “Humans should not be able to think like computers do.”

“We created the computers,” Finrod said, voice breathy because Curufin was still nuzzled up against his collarbone, fingers tensing against his wrists. “We can rise above them.”

“We created them to be better than ourselves,” Curufin replied. “That’s hardly the same thing. Children often outgrow their parents,” and Finrod’s laugh was hollow.

“Have you outgrown your father?” he asked and Curufin snarled, biting hard enough to draw blood and Finrod shook beneath him.

“At least we know you are human,” Curufin said, pulling back slightly, bracing himself over Finrod and letting go of his wrists. “For no creator would ever allow such an imperfect creation as yourself to roam free.”

Finrod laughed, slinking his hands up to Curufin’s hips and along the knobs of his spine. “I may be imperfect,” and he pulled himself up, hands digging into Curufin to press a chaste kiss to his mouth. “But you, my dear, are too.”

“At least I do not have a pathological need to make everyone love me,” Curufin snapped and closed his eyes when Finrod grinned.

“Ah,” he murmured, still holding himself suspended over the bed with his hands on Curufin’s hips as he curled around to kiss his cheek, sliding to his ear. “I thought we were not to talk of love.”

Curufin slammed him back down to the bed, fingers digging into his shoulders and Finrod again obliged him by tilting his head back. “This is not love,” he said. “I do not love you. Your needs for affection to reaffirm your own being have no place here.”

“I think you do well enough reaffirming me in other ways,” Finrod agreed. “But it is logical that we can train human minds to think the same way as machines.”

“Because we created them?” Curufin asked with scorn in his voice.

“Because humans can suppress their emotions,” Finrod said. “To learn how to think logically, to pick out patterns. Because we have become lazy and stopped reaching for the stars does not mean we cannot keep pressing forward.”

Fingers curling around Finrod’s hips, dragging them up to meet his own, Curufin cocked his head to one side, watching Finrod gasp and throw his head back, short blond hair sticking to his face and draping across the pillow. “And have you come to the conclusion humans can suppress their emotions by watching me?”

“Ah, dear Curufin,” Finrod said, and Curufin brought a hand up to twist his fingers in Finrod’s hair that barely came to the bottom of his ears now, when once it had been long and braided, gold and silver falling from his shoulders and down his back. “You can only hope that your children outgrow you. You have only convinced me humans are willing to _try_ ,” and Curufin slammed their mouths together, pulling on Finrod’s hair. When he pulled back, Finrod was smiling serenely, even though he was panting and flushed and Curufin could feel his arousal pressing against his own. “Except your own son seems disinclined to try that.”

“I seem to recall,” Curufin said, own tone mild even though his eyes were cold. “Saying something about leaving _my son_ out of this bed.”

“Oh, you did,” Finrod said, and Curufin knew he had not forgotten. “So sorry, dear cousin.”

Curufin rolled his eyes, and licked at the bite he had made earlier, feeling Finrod writhe underneath him. “So you think humans can think logically enough to replace computers.”

“We’ll get there,” Finrod said and he finally sounded impatient, grabbing Curufin and dragging him down, biting into his mouth and Curufin let him.

“I am certain we will come back to this conversation,” Curufin murmured and Finrod laughed into his mouth.

“The one about love?” he asked and Curufin almost got up and left, instead he shoved Finrod back and bit his tongue until Finrod’s teasing laugh turned into a drawn out moan.

 


End file.
